


One thread (is all it takes to unravel)

by Victori



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Avengers, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, I wrote this instead of coping with endgame, Multi, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victori/pseuds/Victori
Summary: Tony has a lot on his shoulders. Secretary Ross is breathing down his neck, threatening everything he cares about, and there's a new hero on his radar, whose intentions are unknown. And what's going on with his son?Peter has a big secret. One that he can't even tell his father, the great Tony Stark. But between juggling his secret life and his real one, he stumbles upon something bigger than he could ever imagine.With a new threat on the horizon, father and son will have to stick together and trust each other like never before. Will they become stronger than ever? Or will they fall apart?





	One thread (is all it takes to unravel)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing around with this storyline for awhile, and after Endgame I felt like I had to tell this story. I've got a lot planned for this, so I hope you enjoy!

Peter was a good kid.

                Tony knew this. Tony was _perplexed_ by this, in all honesty. Whenever Tony had contemplated having kids in his younger days, he had always assumed that any child he’d help bring into the world would be cursed with his playboy, devil-may-care attitude. It had to be something in the Stark genes, Tony had decided. And if he did get blessed with a perfectly normal child? He would screw them up. He’d curse this poor kid to a life of depression, anxiety and alcoholism, if the kid even _lived_ that long. Despite his best efforts, Tony had managed to live past his playboy days, with their constant drug and alcohol abuse, and the stupid things he did while under the influence of said drugs and alcohol.

                But, at least one good thing had come out of those days: Peter.

                Peter was an accident; that was for certain. A drunken night after a wild party with a gorgeous physicist had resulted in two little lines that meant everything was about to change. Tony was not fit to be a father, but the physicist, it turned out, was even less fit to be a mother. As soon as Tony learned the woman had been continuing her outrageous lifestyle, even into her pregnancy, he made the decision to save the unborn child from the obviously uncaring mother.

                He should’ve given the kid up for adoption. He’d _wanted_ to give the kid up for adoption; they’d be safer with an adopted family than they’d ever be with Tony. But after the scare with the kid’s mother, Tony was hesitant to give them up. What if the new parents were secret psychos? For every adoptive parent that was in consideration, Tony did hours and hours of deep-dive background checks.

                Everything came to a head on the day of Peter’s birth. Tony had thought that he’d found the perfect parents; everything about them was like something out of a Hallmark movie. It was the perfect life, and Tony thought he’d be handing his kid off to the safest hands possible. He thought he was completely ready to let go and get out of this kid’s life.

                And then he saw Peter.

                Tony couldn’t breathe for a couple of moments. His son, nameless, was sleeping quietly, his tiny body tucked securely under a soft blanket. He was so small, so incredibly small and helpless. He was so _fragile,_ like he was bound to break at any second. And then, as if Tony wasn’t in enough awe, his son opened his eyes.

                To Tony’s surprise, the baby didn’t cry. He just peered at Tony through wide eyes, full of innocence and wonder, and a kind of hope that Tony didn’t see very often nowadays. There was intelligence in those eyes, too, soft and beautiful, and the baby stared into Tony’s very soul, far too understanding than a being barely an hour old had any right to be.

                And Tony? Tony did something incredibly selfish: he kept his son. He named him Peter, after the boy who never grew up. It was also the story his mother had told him every night to chase the monsters away.

                Peter’s mother wanted nothing to do with the baby. “He was an accident!” she’d cried, indignant. “He was a mistake!”

                Peter may have been an accident, but he was _never_ a mistake.

                Sure, things hadn’t been perfect. The first year had been the scariest of Tony’s life so far. Babies could be hurt by _literally anything,_ and Tony was terrified of breaking his incredibly-fragile son. It had taken help from Pepper, Rhodey and Happy—as well as some all-nighters reading every parenting book he could find—to somewhat ease his constant fear.

                It helped that Peter was one of the most well-behaved kids that Tony had ever met. Sure, the kid was stubborn, but he was a Stark; it was a given trait. Peter was naturally sweet, and even his ‘terrible twos’ weren’t so terrible, because any temper tantrum ended with a sincere, tearful apology from Peter.

                And God, Tony loved his kid. He loved his kid the way he’d never loved before, with every fiber of his existence. Peter’s laugh was music to his ears; his son’s smile shone brighter than a thousand suns.  Peter’s hair was always a mess of curls that never stayed put (despite Tony’s best attempts), and it flopped in his face so endearingly that not even the great Tony Stark could resist running his hand through the mop.

                The real kicker was the eyes. Peter’s eyes were a deep brown, wide and still filled with the same amazement and hope that they contained when he was a baby. They resembled ~~his mother’s~~ puppy dog eyes so much that Tony felt his heart clench at the sight of them. Tony would give Peter anything if he used the puppy dog eyes. Luckily, Peter hardly ever used those eyes to his own advantage.

                And as Peter grew, it was evident that the kid was smart, too. Like, genius-level smart. It wasn’t really a surprise, considering his parentage, but Peter’s intelligence never ceased to amaze his father. Unlike Howard, Tony was proud of any achievement of Peter’s, no matter how small. Tony would’ve been proud if Peter had been completely normal, but seeing his kid in the lab, like he was born to be there, instilled a sense of pride Tony hadn’t even known he could feel.

                So yeah, Tony felt like he had hit the lottery in the son department. Sometimes he’d stare at the sky and ask God if there had been some mix-up, because Peter deserved the world and Tony couldn’t give it to him.  And the world wasn’t _safe_ for Peter, no matter how hard he tried to make it that way.

                The Avengers could call Tony a ‘helicopter parent’ as much as they wanted, but Tony just wanted to protect his son. The Battle of New York had scared Tony out of his mind. Peter had been _at the Tower,_ with _Loki_ , and it had taken all of his restraint to resist wrapping his son in fifteen layers of bubble wrap. The Mandarin situation had literally been his worst nightmare. And don’t even get him _started_ on the Ultron fiasco. Tony’s anxiety had hit new levels that shouldn’t even be _possible._ And Tony knew the Avengers felt the same concern that Tony did, even if it was shown in different ways.

                And the residents of Avengers Tower were very concerned.

                Because Peter was a good kid; they all knew he was a good kid.

                But Peter was hiding something.

And none of them knew what it was.

                Peter was not a good liar.

                He knew he wasn’t. He never _had_ to be. He and his dad had a good enough relationship that he could tell the man basically anything.

                But Peter couldn’t tell him _this._

                He didn’t even know where to _start._ How do you tell your father, the billionaire-genius-philanthropist-superhero, that, on your field trip to OsCorp, you got bitten by a radioactive spider and now swing around Queens in a hoodie and some sweatpants, fighting crime?

                The answer? You don’t.

                It was the only answer in Peter’s mind. He trusted his dad and the rest of the Avengers with his life, but this? This was different. Peter Stark was Spider-man, but Spider-man wasn’t Peter Stark.

                Spider-man was something for everyday people, the ones who always got the short end of the stick. He didn’t want his name plastered to the vigilante, like it was some big act of charity from the son of the great Tony Stark; it wasn’t. Spider-man was the one who looked out for the little guy when the Avengers were fighting the big fight, and he was okay with that. He’d slip in and out of the neighborhood, just cleaning up the smaller crimes, and leaving without so much as a wave goodbye.

                It was a much different style than his father, who was all flash and show, who went in to the big fights armed with multiple kinds of explosives. Peter would stick—haha, _stick,_ nice accidental pun—to his webshooters, which were much more fitting to his quieter, more reserved demeanor.

                Plus, if his dad found out, the elder Stark would absolutely _murder him_.

                So Peter sat in a homemade suit on top of a building in the middle of Queens praying to God that his father never found out who was really under the mask.

                “How’re we looking, Karen?” Peter had constructed his AI, with Tony’s help, at age 11, and when he became Spider-man, the first thing he thought to do was implant her into the suit. It had taken a lot of work—made extra by the fact that he had to use his father’s labs without getting caught—but he’d finally made a suit with crime-fighting capabilities. Sure, it was scruffy, but given the circumstances, he was proud of the results.

                “Peter, your father will be at school soon to pick you up from your ‘tutoring session’. I suggest you make your way there.”

                Peter looked at his watch, and then blinked, like he had misread the time. “Oh, man, I’m _screwed.”_

“It is advised that you start heading back _now,_ Peter.”

                Peter yanked down his mask and swung between the buildings, all while muttering, “Oh my god, Dad’s gonna kill me if he finds out. I’m going to _die.”_

                “I can call emergency services if you are fatally injured, Peter.”

                Peter rolled his eyes under his mask. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

                It took a few minutes for Peter to consider taking Karen up on her offer. Was this what a heart attack felt like? His dad had always said that Peter was going to send him to early grave. Oh how the tables have turned.

                Peter landed behind his school in record time. He stripped his suit off and stuffed it in a carefully-stashed backpack. Then, in his normal school clothes, he walked into the building and out the front door, where a rather conspicuous orange Audi was waiting for him.

                Tony looked at Peter through his tinted sunglasses. He smiled and swung the car door open on the passenger’s side.

                “Hey, kiddo, how was school?”

                “It was good.” Peter was still out of breath from the swing over. The less air he used, the better.

                His father raised an eyebrow. “Just ‘good’? Not ‘great’ or ‘awesome’? What demoted it to a ‘good’ day?”

                Tony was looking at his son a little more closely and noticed a bruise on Peter’s cheekbone. He frowned. “Pete, where’d you get that?”

                Peter’s eyes widened. He’d forgotten about the bruise completely. He was hit pretty hard at the beginning of his patrol, but the pain had faded, so he assumed the bruise had too. He was wrong.

                Apparently, the silence had been too long for Tony’s liking, because he shifted closer. “Are you okay, Pete? What happened?”

                “I…ran into a pole.” Okay, it wasn’t his most convincing lie, but the bruise would be healed by tomorrow anyways. Which would probably be pretty suspicious. Peter cursed in his head and made a mental note to avoid face-hits at all costs. This was the first one that had actually stuck around long enough for anyone to notice, and he’d been doing this for _months_.

                “You ran into a pole?” Tony’s frown deepened. _Crap. He didn’t buy it._ “Seriously, Peter, what happened?”

                “That _is_ what happened!” Peter insisted. “I was talking with Ned and I wasn’t looking where I was going and I ran into a pole!”

                Tony still didn’t look convinced, but he dropped it with a worried side glance. He started the car. “Okay, if you say so, Pete. But if someone’s hurting you…”

                “I’d tell you, I promise.” That was a lie. Flash had been bothering him, but it wasn’t anything Peter couldn’t handle. Besides, his dad had bigger fish to fry than high school bullies.

                His answer seemed to satisfy Tony, who turned his eyes back to the road and drove towards the tower. He asked other questions about tests and grades, and laughed when Peter told him about the PSAs Cap had done for the school. The top of the convertible was down, and the sun was shining on Peter’s face. It was such a relaxed moment, especially after all that had happened, that soon both found themselves grinning. Peter closed his eyes and savored the moment.

                They pulled up to the Tower. Peter grabbed his bag and Tony slung his arm over his kid’s shoulders.

                As they entered the elevator, FRIDAY piped up. “Hello Boss, mini Boss.”

                Tony snorted and Peter blushed. “I told you, Fri,” Peter reiterated. “Call me Peter.”

                “Okay, mini Boss.”

                Tony was trying not to laugh. “Can you _please_ stop telling Fri to call me that? I’m not _mini_.”

                “What’s the matter, short stack?” Tony chuckled, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Embarrassed?”

                “Me? Never,” Peter said sarcastically. He flashed his father a mischievous grin. “Besides, I’m only an inch or two shorter than you.”

                “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying, Petey-pie.”

                Peter did his best to look innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

                Tony rolled his eyes. “You little shit.” There was no anger in his words, only fondness, and Peter grinned wider.

                The elevator doors slid open. “Boss, mini Boss, we’ve arrived in the common room.”

                Peter ignored the nickname and waved at Sam and Nat, who we lounging on the couches. They appeared to be deep in a game of Mario Kart.

                Nat paused the game and smiled at Peter. “Hello, cutie,” she said in Russian. “How was school?”

                “It was boring, as usual.” Peter replied in (broken) Russian. He glanced at Tony and Sam’s confused faces. “They probably think we’re talking about them.”

                Sam nodded at Tony. “You getting any of this?”

                Tony sighed. “I know four languages, but this bullshit isn’t one of them.”

                Natasha tilted her head quizzically, and asked in English, “Peter, what happened to your eye?”

                Peter did his best to look sheepish as all eyes in the room turned to him. “I ran into a pole.”

                Natasha had a terrifying glint in her eye. “That better be the truth.”

                By far, the hardest person to keep his secret from was Natasha; it was her _job_ to figure out what people were hiding, and she could normally read him like a book. “It’s true. It’s just…embarrassing.”

                Somehow, he could pass off his lies as teenage awkwardness. The heat on his face from Natasha’s calculating stare sold the lie. “Aww, милашка, it’s alright to be clumsy,” Nat teased gently. “You’re definitely more coordinated than _this_ guy.” She gestured at Sam.

                Sam looked offended. “I’m coordinated.” At the skeptical looks he got, Sam defended himself even further. “My reflexes are great. I beat Peter at Mario Kart once.”

                “I had the _flu.”_

                “My kid could leave you in the _dust,_ birdbrain,” Tony scoffed.

                Nat rolled her eyes. “ _Anyone_ could leave Sam in the dust. He’s in _eleventh_.”

                “I’m not really trying,” Sam grumbled. He un-paused the game. Sam was indeed in eleventh place, and Natasha was absolutely destroying him in her first-place spot.

                They both drove through the item cubes (Sam much later than Nat). Sam grinned when he saw what he’d gotten.

                “Try this on for size!”

                Peter watched in horror as the blue shell careened towards Natasha, before slamming down on her vehicle.

                One cart crossed the finish line, then another. Natasha finished in third place. Her head snapped around, hitting Sam with the coldest glare Peter had ever seen.

                Sam immediately dropped the controller, eyes widening. He had realized his mistake, and regret was written all over his face. Any cockiness he’d had seconds earlier was replaced with pure fear.

                “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Sam’s hands were raised, either in apology or protection. “Please don’t hurt me.”

                Natasha stood up and sauntered over to Sam, face neutral. She ran her hand softly along Sam’s cheek as Sam shrunk back, trying to become one with the upholstery.

                “Oh, Sam,” Natasha cooed, her voice low. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

                She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him close to her face. “ _Yet_ ,” she hissed.

                Natasha stood up to her full height and calmly strolled away. Sam turned to Peter and Tony with terror in his eyes.

                “Help. She’s going to kill me.”

                “Nah, she won’t kill you.” Tony clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “She’ll only maim you.”

                Sam looked to Peter for sympathy. Peter shrugged. “Don’t look at me, man. Everybody knows you don’t betray Natasha. Remember when we played Monopoly?”

                The three shuddered as they thought back to the Game Night Massacre of 2014.

                “Please, Pete, I’m begging you. She listens to you.”

                “Don’t get my kid involved with this, dumbass,” Tony warned. “Come on, kiddo, let’s get Bruce to look at your shiner.”

                As Peter passed by, he whispered to Sam, “I’ll talk to her, but I can’t make any promises.”

                Sam’s face lit up. “Remember when I called you a little asshole? I take it back. You’re my new favorite.”

                “You called me a what?”

                “Shhhh, it doesn’t matter.”

                “Peter!” his dad called.

                “Coming!” Peter called back. He caught up with Tony in a couple of big steps.

                Tony slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders again. He always liked to have his son within arm’s reach. “So, any other medical issues I should know about?” Tony questioned. “How’s your asthma?”

                Peter resisted the urge to wince. He’d had a lot of medical problems, before the spider bite came and turned him into a Boy Wonder. The worst part was having to pretend he was still the weak kid he’d grown up as. “It’s fine, dad.”

                “You wearing contacts? I haven’t seen you in your glasses.

                “Yeah, dad.”

                “I’m gonna have Bruce check out your heart arrythmia. Gotta make sure—”

                “Dad!” Peter’s outburst got his father’s attention. “I’m fine, I swear. Don’t worry.”

                Tony let out a short laugh. “I’m your dad, kid. It’s my job to worry.”

                Peter huffed. His father had always been protective, but now his protectiveness could ruin everything. One doctor takes a closer look at him, and his secret is out.

                The doors to the med bay slid open. “Brucey-bear!” Tony called. “Your nephew needs a check-up!”

                Bruce appeared from behind the X-ray machine. He smiled at Peter and Tony. “What is it this time, kid?”

                Tony gestured at Peter’s face. “Look at that. The kid looks like a panda.”

                Bruce approached Peter and examined his eye. He frowned.

                “Give it to me straight, doc,” Tony joked. “Is he gonna live?”

                Bruce rolled his eyes. “Tony, the bruise is barely there. He’s going to be fine.”

                “What?” Tony turned Peter towards him, closely looking at his face. Confusion crossed his features. “I swear that shiner looked a lot worse half an hour ago.”

                Bruce gave a long-suffering sigh. “I doubt it could heal that fast, Tony.”

                _Actually, it can,_ Peter thought, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out. That was a conversation he did _not_ want to have.

                “Any other problems, Peter?”

                “I told you, I’m fine. But I do have homework to do.” He gave a wave to the two scientists and began his retreat toward his room.

                “Dinner is in an hour!” Tony called down the hall.

                “I’ll be there!” Peter responded, never even turning around.

                Tony huffed. “Teenagers.”

                Bruce smirked. “You need to calm down, Tony. You’re the definition of a helicopter parent.”

                “One more quip like that and I’ll rescind your lab privileges.”       

                “Then someone will get hurt, and where will I be? Vacation.”

                 “Boss, Secretary Ross is on the phone.”

                Tony groaned and shared an exasperated look with Bruce. “Give me a sec, Fri. Bruce, where’s Steve?”

                “Last I heard, he was training in the gym with Wanda and Vision.”

                “Thanks.”

                He turned in the direction of the gym. FRIDAY spoke again. “Secretary Ross is getting impatient.”

                “Let him wait,” Tony growled. No one on the team was fond of Ross after his Accords nearly split the Avengers apart. Luckily, they’d read the fine print, and found some things that they were 100% not okay with. Now, Ross was determined to make their lives a living hell.

                Sure enough, he found Steve in the gym, instructing Wanda and Vision, who were using their powers to spar. Seeing Tony enter, Steve called for a time out, and went over to talk to the billionaire while his protegees grabbed some water.

                “Hey, Tony,” Steve greeted. Seeing Tony’s sour expression, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

                “We have a certain _problem_ on Line 1.”

                Steve straightened. “Ross.”

                “Ding ding ding. We have a winner.”

                “Wanda, Vis, we’re done for now. Go get cleaned up,” Steve ordered. Wanda gave him a questioning look but didn’t say anything. She could probably sense his unease; however, she took Vision’s offered arm and walked out quietly.

                “FRIDAY, answer the call.”

                Thaddeus Ross’s face appeared on the holographic screen. He did not look pleased. “Stark. Rogers.”

                Tony forced a smile. “Ross! How can I help you?”

                “Cut the crap, Stark. You know why I called. And you know I hate waiting.”

                “We apologize, Secretary,” Steve spoke up. “We were a bit busy.”

                “Bullshit. You and your hero pals have been avoiding me. One way or another, you’re going to agree to the Accords. Why prolong the inevitable?”

                Tony narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were threatening us.”

                Ross leaned closer to the screen, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Everyone has a pressure point, Stark. And I already know yours.”

                Tony paled, and his hands clenched at his sides. “Excuse me?”

                “You’ve got a cute kid there, Stark. Smart, too. Top of his class.” Ross’s face was cold and calculating, as if he were more machine than man. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to him.”

                “Stay the fuck away from my son,” Tony fumed. “You fucking touch him and I’ll—”

                “I know what you would do,” Ross smirked, “But you can’t protect him forever.”

                “Watch me,” Tony snarled. “You even _look_ in his direction and you’ll find yourself in so many pieces that not even your tangled web of lies will be able to keep you together.”

“You show your hand too easily, Stark.”

                “I think we’re done here,” Steve growled, and disconnected the call. Tony took his fist back and brought it down hard on the nearest punching bag.

                “You hear that bullshit, Rogers? That cowardly. Fucking. _Bastard!”_

                Each word was another hit on the bag. Steve grabbed Tony’s shoulders, and Tony whipped around, eyes glinting like a madman.

                “Tony, no one’s going to hurt Peter,” Steve assured. “Peter lives with the most dangerous people in the world, all of which would _die for him_ without hesitation.”

                “No one should have to.” Tony’s shoulders slumped, and he suddenly felt exhausted. “We save the world, and we get screwed. He’s a _kid._ He shouldn’t be a part of this shitshow.”

                “And he’s not going to be. Ross can’t do anything right now. The Accords are already a mess, and the public knows it. He makes a move now, and he’s toast.”

                Tony gritted his teeth. “I don’t like this, Steve.”

                Steve grimaced. “Unfortunately, no one cares if we like it. The best we can do is stay low to the ground and keep the public’s favor.”

                Tony shrugged Steve’s hand off of his shoulder, regaining his classic stance. “God, you’re starting to sound like Pepper.”

                “She’s a smart woman,” Steve smiled. “She’s also 90% of your impulse control.”

                Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not saying you’re right, but…honestly, at this point, she’s the team’s handler. Christ, can you imagine where we’d be without her? The team would be in _shambles._ ”

                “You right.” Tony stared at Steve, to which he shrugged sheepishly. “Peter says it sometimes. Thought I’d give it a shot.”

                “Grandpa, leave the lingo to the cool cats.”

                “Tony, ‘cool cats’ was an outdated term in _my day_.”

                “Shut it, Life Alert. Go have a 5 pm dinner or something.” Tony turned his head upwards. “Speaking of: Fri, who’s turn is it for dinner tonight?”

                “Dr. Banner is scheduled to cook this evening.”

                Both Tony and Steve groaned. “FRIDAY, do me a favor and order takeout.”

                “Chinese? Thai? Italian?”

                “Thai, Fri. The usual order. Oh, and add some extra fried rice to the order. Peter can’t get enough of the stuff.”

                Steve chuckled. “Maybe tonight will be the night Bruce masters the stove.”

                It wasn’t. Half an hour later, Bruce was coughing and fanning the smoke away from the remains of what looked like a sad attempt at lasagna.

                Natasha’s nose crinkled as she walked into the room. “Didn’t go well?”

                “I don’t understand!” Bruce cried. “Cooking is just chemistry. Chemistry! I know chemistry!”

                Nat cocked an eyebrow. “Why don’t you use one of your PHD’s?”

                Bruce threw down a dish towel in frustration. “None of them are for Italian pasta dishes!”

                Tony waltzed into the room, a smug look on his face. Bruce pointed a finger at him threateningly. “Not one word. I’ll get it right someday.”

                “Sure you will, Brucie-Bear. But until that day, takeout will be a frequent visitor.”

                “I take it you’ve already ordered?” Nat asked.

                “It’ll be here in approximately…” he glanced at his watch, “…three minutes. Wow my timing keeps getting better and better.”

                “Let me guess. Thai?”

                Bruce smiled. “Peter’s favorite.”

                “Seriously, Tony, one of these days we might want to have something _besides_ Thai.”

                “Um, no.” Tony shook his head. “Unless _you_ want to be the one to tell Peter you’re tired of it, then you will eat the noodles and _be happy about it._ ”

                For once, Natasha went quiet.

                Tony took Natasha’s silence as understanding. “See? Not easy, is it?”

                “Boss, the food has arrived.”

                Bruce sighed. “Tony, I can pay for it. It’s my fault dinner’s ruined.”

                Tony almost looked offended. “No, you will not.” Bruce started to protest, but Tony held up his hand. “Seriously, I’m a billionaire. I can handle $100 worth of takeout.”

                He made his way toward the elevator. Right before the doors slid closed, he yelled, “Hey Fri, ring the dinner bell!”

                Nat cringed. She hated his “dinner bell” protocol.

                _It’s a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake, if the way is hazy_

_You gotta do the cooking by the book, you know you can’t be lazy!_

Sam stumbled into the room, rubbing his ears. “Of all songs, why did he have to choose _this_ one?”

                Nat shrugged. “I think it was a kid show Pete used to watch. I’m just glad it’s not the _remixed_ version.”

                They all bit back a grin. No one knew how Clint had managed to change the song—although it was suspected that Peter was involved—but Steve’s horrified expression at the explicit lyrics had sent the team into a fit of laughter.

                Nat frowned. “You know, I would’ve expected Peter to be here by now.”

                Peter was currently sneaking back in through his bedroom window, fifty stories up. He wasn’t going to go out as Spider-Man, but he’d seen some suspicious activity in the alley near the Tower, and he couldn’t just _not_ stop it. Then one fight turned to three, and suddenly it was dinner time, and he was late.

                Peter practically tripped on the windowsill, landing on the floor with a _thud_ and a _crash_. He hopped to his feet and ripped his suit off with a little too much force. _I can’t get caught, I can’t get caught, I can’t—_

Two short raps at the door. He could tell by the knocks—Natasha.

                “милашка? You okay?”

                _Shit._

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine!” Peter squeaked. He slid the window closed with one hand as he grabbed a hoodie with the other. As silently as he could, he struggled to get it on.

                “You sure?” He could hear Nat’s worry through the door. “You don’t sound so good.”

                “I’m fine!” Peter’s voice cracked. He spotted a pair of jeans and stuck one leg through, nearly falling over again as he leaned too far to one side.

                “That’s too many ‘fines’ in one conversation. Open the door or I’ll break it down.”

                Peter’s eyes widened. That wasn’t an empty threat. He shoved his other leg through the jeans, hands fumbling with the buttons. He stuffed his suit into its hidden slot in the closet, and made a grab at the door, swinging it open.

                Natasha was poised to strike the door, but she lowered her raised leg. “What happened, Peter?”

                He blushed. “I fell. Sorry for worrying you.”

                Nat glanced back at the room behind him. “That’s quite a trail of destruction. Hulk would be proud.”

                “It’s not _that_ bad.”

                “Is it just me, or are you getting clumsier lately?” She brushed a stray curl from his forehead.

                “I…I’m…” Peter stuttered. _Oh God, she knows, she knows, she knows._

                “If something’s wrong, you’d tell me, right?” Nat asked quietly, more compassionately than anyone would expect of a highly-trained assassin.

                “I swear, I’m f—” at Natasha’s dubious expression, he remedied— “I’m okay. Promise.”

                She didn’t look as if she bought it, but she dropped it anyway. “Come on, Pete,” she slung an arm around his shoulders, “if we don’t get dinner soon, your father will be playing that song _all night long.”_

                Peter laughed, and a small smile graced Nat’s face as well.

                The dining room was already packed when they entered. Sam and Rhodey were arguing. Peter discovered that they were in a heated _Friends_ debate.

                “Ross and Rachel were in a committed relationship for _months_ , and he blew it off!”

                “ _They were on a BREAK!”_

                Steve, Vision, and Wanda were having a much more civil conversation. It didn’t seem as interesting, so Peter didn’t bother tuning in. Bruce was just staring forlornly at his ruined lasagna.

                The elevator dinged and all heads whipped around. Tony made his way towards them, lugging the full plastic bags brimming with food. He barely made it three steps before he was…relieved of the bags.

                “Hey!” he protested as Sam, Steve and Rhodey grabbed the food. “Couldn’t you wait like two seconds?”

                “Nope,” Steve said, popping the ‘p’. His metabolism meant that he was probably starving. Peter could understand; the teen felt like he hadn’t eaten all day.

                Tony just threw up his now-empty hands in frustration as he watched the Avengers hungrily snatch their orders. “All of you are _animals_. I feel like a zookeeper.” He glanced over at Peter, who was currently stuffing his face with Pad Thai. “Really, kid? I raised you better than this.”

                Peter just shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

                “Aw, lay off the kid, Tones,” Rhodey said. “He’s got that teen metabolism. He might wither away if he doesn’t eat.”

                Tony poked Peter in the side, causing the kid to giggle. “You’re right, Rhodey, he’s practically a stick.”

                Wanda, who was seated on the other side of Peter, frowned. “You really are skinny, Pietro. Those clothes _swallow_ you.”

                Peter resisted the urge to wince. He’d purposefully been wearing baggy clothing to hide his muscular definition. He had no idea what he was going to do in the summer, which was rapidly approaching.

                Dinner continued as it normally did, complete with a lot of jokes and teasing. Though the mood of the dinner was light, Peter could sense the weight that lay beneath. He didn’t miss the shared looks between his father and Steve; nor did he miss the fact that his father sat closer to him during the meal, hand just barely brushing the sleeve of Peter’s sweatshirt. His father always needed to be close, but to be this close meant that something had happened.

                It was when his father’s eyes met his that Peter realized he had been staring. He cocked his head quizzically, to which his father responded with a reassuring (yet totally fake) smile. The elder Stark’s eyes were still clouded with worry that the man quickly tried to hide, but Peter saw right through it. Wordlessly, the kid scooted a little closer until the two were shoulder to shoulder, and lay his head on his father’s shoulder. Tony instantly relaxed, and ran his hand through his son’s hair with shaking hands.

                Both were intimately aware of the concerned stare they were getting from Natasha.

                The pair stayed like that for a while, until something in the conversation made Peter’s head perk up.

                “…all I’m saying is, not everyone can do what we do,” Sam complained. “There are so many imitators just playing dress up. Like…like that Spider thing in Queens.”

                This seemed to capture everyone’s attention, and Peter resisted the urge to run. Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “You think he’s a threat?”

                “I think he’s a fan, which is worse.” Sam threw up his hands. “Everyone’s got a gimmick these days.”

                Nat turned to Steve. “What do you think?”

                Steve shook his head. “I…think he’s unexperienced. He doesn’t recognize how his actions affect others. Whether he’s enhanced or not, he’s reckless, and that’s dangerous.”

                Peter wilted. His heroes, his _family_ , none of them approved.  For the first time, he stood alone.

                “I like what he’s doing,” Wanda said softly. “He’s saving the people we don’t. He has a good heart.”

                Wanda didn’t miss the thankful look Peter gave her, although she didn’t understand it.

                “Good heart or no, he has to be held responsible,” Tony stated. He was avoiding eye contact, pushing his food around with his fork. “Actions have consequences. People get hurt.”

                “Interesting,” Natasha hummed. Peter really didn’t like the glint in her eye.

                Across the city, in a high rise much like Avengers Tower, a man sits, peering down at the street below. His eyes scan the umbrellas the tiny, tiny people use to shield themselves from the torrential downpour that had sprung upon them. His hands twitch as he watches the people scatter, hidden under their black umbrellas. None of them look up; none of them see him.

                A flash of color catches his eye. A red umbrella in a sea of black, a beacon of hope in a dark universe. The color of heat, he muses. The color of blood.

               He follows it, watches as it is swallowed by the abyss around it. For something that looked so strong, it was so fragile. The right breeze could collapse it. Cut the right string, and it would unravel.

               He turned back to his desk. His research, his work, was spread out on the table in front of him. The result of blood, sweat, and tears, the only thing he could think about.

              His mind wanders to the Battle of New York. He thinks of the screams; he thinks of the blood. He thinks of the red man made of metal, disappearing into the black abyss in the sky.

              Tony Stark was a titan; invincible, untouchable. A god among men. But this god was no immortal; he bled, he wept, he could collapse under the strain.

              He could unravel.

              Staring at the work in front of him, he let out a laugh. It echoed through the dark, empty corridors.

             After all this time, all this work, he’d found the cure-all solution, the one blow that could knock the great Tony Stark off of his pedestal.

             The right string.

             The man grins.

             He’d found where to cut, and he couldn’t wait to watch a god fall apart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things:  
> 1\. Yes I completely believe that the Avengers never would have split up if Pepper and Peter played a role. I mean, come on. Pepper would smack sense into the team and Peter would use the puppy dog eyes and then they'd all make up.  
> 2\. This was a little longer than I would have liked it to be, but I had a lot of backstory to get in without making it seem boring. The action is definitely going to pick up pretty quickly, so hold on!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'll be back with a new chapter soon!


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